There's really nothing quite like the feeling of disappointment - that complete, blindsided-type of disappointment when all of your momentum is heading in one direction and you're suddenly slammed with a curve in the road which propels you in the opposite direction. It takes a second or two to get your balance again, to try desperately to figure out what just happened while attempting to move forward in the new direction. There's that pit deep in your stomach from the total let down of expecting one thing but being met with another. There's the embarrassment of being so confident in one outcome when things turn out differently. No matter how many times you try to protect yourself from this feeling by not getting your hopes up, you really just can't avoid it when you believe in something so strongly that is not entirely in your control. All you can do is learn from the experience and make adjustments.
I think the first time I remember feeling this way was in second grade. Granted, things are a bit exaggerated when you're that age, and you really don't know the power of disappointment. I was cast as Dorothy in my school's production of The Wizard of OZ, and it was really an elaborate production. We had costumes, set pieces, sound effects, and a large auditorium. Looking back, this really wasn't the self-defining moment that my younger self believed it was. Yes, it was a pretty big deal to have auditioned and been granted the leading role, but within the continuum of life, it really didn't matter. At the end of the performance, we all went out on stage for the final bow. As we practiced, I stepped forward for my individual bow, and someone from the audience came running to the stage with a large bouquet of flowers. Even though I had no idea who this person was, there was absolutely no question in my mind that those flowers were for me. I took a few steps toward the edge of the stage and leaned forward to gather the bouquet in my arms. Just then, another student ran up and accepted her flowers. I was completely shocked and shaken. I was embarrassed and devastated that the flowers were not actually for me. Again, a completely insignificant event that was monumental to a young girl.
Fast-forward a few years, still in my youth, I was absorbed by the concept of Publishers Clearinghouse. Each time the mailings arrived, I would help my mom fill out the forms and return them, faithfully. I was convinced that we would be winners. How could be possibly not win? We had done everything that the contest required us to do, and, more importantly, we deserved the money. Finally, the day arrived when the winners would be surprised at their homes with a giant check, presented on live TV during the Super Bowl. My family was never really in to sports, but I remember sitting in the living room, watching the game and eagerly awaiting halftime when I knew the Publishers Clearinghouse segment would air. I vividly remember looking out the window, down our long driveway which winded through a wooded area which slightly obstructed the view of cars pulling up to the house - I was convinced that I could see people hiding just out of sight, holding a bunch of balloons that they would be bringing up to our door with the check. At one point, the telephone rang, and while my mom said it was a wrong number, I knew that was the Publishers Clearinghouse folks checking to make sure we were home to accept our winnings. When the segment aired, and another family was surprised at their doorstep, I was crushed. I couldn't understand how it was possible while in my mind, everything pointed to us as the winners. I was utterly devastated, over something I had spent so much time building up in my head. The hard slap of reality stung for a while.
Auditioning for a community theater production and not being cast, trying out for a high school play and not getting a part, competing in horse shows or speech competitions and not winning an award - there were several other times in my childhood that I was convinced things would turn out completely differently than the real outcome and felt totally blindsided by the results. Now, as an adult, I'm learning that you really can't avoid times like these. There are events like job interviews that you absolutely have to go into with a high level of confidence and get to a point of convincing yourself that you are meant to have this job. Lacking this confidence may have a negative impact on your interview and could result in less than positive results. So you've got to be all-in. You have to throw yourself head-over-heels into the situation. Of course, there are times when you can tell that it's not a good fit and can move on before you even hear from the potential employer; but other times, truly, all signs point to a job offer. You build it up so much in your mind that when you do get that call, or that e-mail, saying another candidate has been selected, it is completely devastating. It's a personal blow and results in deep-seeded self doubt. How could I have not seen that coming? What did I do wrong?
Again, it should all be a learning experience. The only way to move forward is to focus on the next opportunity. Hopefully, the road will begin to straighten out and the curves will become less destabilizing. Soon, there will be a stretch of predictability and a moment in time when reality actually matches up with the way its played out in your mind. Until then, just keep driving.
This weekend, JC and I ate a pizza covered with wild boar meatballs, rabbit sausage, and finocchiona (a.k.a. awesome salami). Thank you, Parlor. If you would have presented this meal to me six years ago, I would have quickly turned up my nose.
In the time that we've lived in Phoenix, both of our palates have expanded dramatically and has allowed us to discover some pretty phenomenal food options. Some people spend their extra money on expensive purses or lavish trips...we spend ours on delicious food. Granted, with all of the exotic flavors and unique joints we've come to enjoy, we've also gotten very smart about portion control - we split everything. Not only does it help to keep the costs and calories down, it also allows us the opportunity to try a wider variety of dishes.
As we've branched out and followed our noses (and stomachs) outside the norm of chain restaurants and the well-publicized eateries, we've also had some fantastic experiences with the people. One of our absolutely best choices off the beaten path is a place called Elie's Deli. They don't have a website, and being located in a near deserted strip mall can't possibly help drive up business. Elie's is basically the definition of a diamond-in-the-rough. The food is authentic and truly made with love by a brother and sister team who runs the business themselves. There are no employees, just the two of them, and the occasional appearance of Elie herself - the stereotypical, middle eastern grandmother. I'll admit, I was nervous the first time we stopped in, worried that two Caucasians might be completely out of place and even treated as if we didn't belong. Oh, how I had drastically misjudged the experience. Natta and her brother are so extremely welcoming and so gracious for every customer that comes to enjoy their food. She genuinely takes an interest in every person who walks in the door - she actually wants to hear the answer when she asks, "How has your day been?" We have become regulars at Elie's and are easily identifiable by what we order. When I call ahead, I'm always greeted with, "I know who you are!" It brings such a huge smile to my face and fills my heart with joy just as the food fills my belly with goodness.
Another great local joint is Kitchen 56. The assortment of unique twists on traditional flavors makes this a place to visit over and over. It's hip and fun, yet sophisticated and classy. The atmosphere is very fun and relaxed, and we've never had bad service. Everyone who works there seems to truly enjoy what they do. It has definitely grown in popularity since the first time we visited right after it opened, but it's worth having a big of a crowd for the comfort of knowing it won't be closing anytime soon.
A not-so-hidden gem and mouth-watering delight is Delux. If you want a burger, this is the place to get a burger. The fries are also delicious and served in a "basket" - a mini shopping cart - with an exquisite aioli dipping sauce. This is hands-down the best burger in town. And they have wonderful hot dogs as well. That's all that needs to be said about Delux.
Looking for a sandwich? Duck and Decanter has many locations around town yet somehow still maintains that mom-and-pop feel. Again, terrific service from friendly people, with a wide assortment of tasty treats between two slices of bread. JC created his own sandwich combining the menu's standard marinated roasted chicken breast with a half-portion of duck breast, and he has creatively named it "The Double Fowl". One day I was in picking up some lunch to go, the manger happened to take my order. He commented on the delicious sound of those two meats, and I shared my husband's clever naming. The manager was delighted and said they just might add it as a special during baseball's Spring Training season. Ah, my culinary hubby!
There are so many other places around town that we frequent on a regular basis, expanding our tastes while trying not to expand our waistlines too much. There's really something special about enjoying food from a restaurant that is just that - something special. No more Taco Bell or Applebee's for this desert duo - our tastes are far too sophisticated for the monotony of the well-beaten food path.
I feel very fortunate to have lived a life free from any major sickness or injury. That being said, I've had my fair share of pain and discomfort that comes with an assortment of minor illnesses and conditions that require medical attention. Growing up riding horses and dancing, it seemed inevitable. Falling off a horse, or being stepped on and bitten, are all part of the package deal, just like blisters and bloody feet come along with serious ballet training. The day I dislocated my left knee cap during a PE soccer game in middle school was a bit of a turning point which lead to my first surgery. What I remember most about that experience was the extreme nausea I sustained as a result of the anesthesia. Waking up from a medically-induced sleep and vomiting almost instantly is not a fun experience, and that's when I knew I was semi-allergic to anesthesia.
I had my wisdom teeth removed my freshman year of college. It wasn't a horrible experience, but I was quiet swollen, and it happened to be within a week of my birthday. I had feared a return of the nausea and was not looking forward to any post oral surgery vomits, but my worries were for nothing, and everything turned out well, until I tried to take Vicodin. My stomach did not react well at all to the powerful pain killer, and that's when I knew I could never be a drug addict.
During a routine visit to the dentist in 2010, they noticed white tissue on the underside of my tongue. Because I've never smoked a cigarette in my entire life (not once!), I was very annoyed and even angry at the potential of any oral cancer. During this same time, I was having horrible pain in my lower abdominal area consistent with ovarian cysts and possible endometriosis. This pain required a variety of different procedures including multiple ultrasounds (both external and internal) and a CT scan. My experience with the CT scan is not one I will quickly forget. Eventually, it was determined that taking a surgical look inside would be best to see what was causing the pain. As it turned out, I scheduled my tongue biopsy a few weeks prior to my laproscopy - because two medical procedures are more fun than one. Honestly, I was more nervous about the laproscopy than the biopsy, but soon learned I had misjudged the pain and pure discomfort of a tongue biopsy. For several days, I couldn't eat, could barely drink, and was becoming an expert drooler. Any slight movement of my tongue resulted in an unbearable amount of pain, and that's when I knew I had greatly underestimated the role of my tongue in every day life.
Being a ballerina for 12 years, I knew a day would come when I would pay the price for the hours of twisting, bending, and stretching. For as long as I can remember, I have had a constant ache in my hips - nothing that wasn't easily ignored, but just enough to tell me there was a problem. JC has been requesting for quite a while that I go get things checked out, and I have been putting it off simply because I already know there's something wrong. Finally, I gave in and visited an orthopedic hip specialist who took x-rays and announced there are signs of hip impingement syndrome in both hips. This required a closer look through an MRI with an injection of contrast. The doctor said they are only able to conduct the procedure on one hip at a time, so we decided to start with my left. I was very relieved that I would not have to relive the horror of drinking barium, and for some reason, I thought the injection with be much like a vaccine shot into the side of my hip. Of course, I made the mistake of conducting a bit of research on the internet and learned the contrast is actually injected through a large needle straight into the hip socket. Awesome. It was a very unpleasant experience. Although it wasn't necessarily painful, the sensation of a needle touching my bones was terrible. After the contrast fluid was sufficiently injected, I was off to the MRI. The technicians quickly strapped me into place, tying my feet together in a pigeon-toed position to effectively open the hip, and I was given earplugs, headphones, and an emergency button to push if I need to stop the test at any time. Then, into the machine I went, and that's when I knew I was claustrophobic. I truly didn't think I'd have any problem with an MRI, but I would be lying if I didn't contemplate pushing that emergency button within the first 30 seconds. Of course, I knew that if I stopped, I would just have to start all over again. So, I managed to slow my breathing, close my eyes, and focus on the music in my headphones. I honestly don't know how long I was in the machine, but I was definitely relieved when it was all over.
I am very grateful for the wonders of modern medicine and the various resources available to doctors in order to diagnose the causes of pain and sickness. I am also extremely glad I do not have to frequent these sorts of tests on a regular basis;but, I know many people who do, including my own mother. It seems like a necessary evil, having to withstand a high level of discomfort in order to appropriately deal with a constant issue. In the end, it really all boils down to an increase of knowledge about ourselves and our bodies that we may not otherwise be able to obtain.
